Finally
by Ashipisawishyourheartmakes
Summary: Ever since The Fall Sherlock has been waiting for something. Year after year he watches John, waiting. Has it finally happend? *oneshot*


**A/N: A oneshot in the aftermath of The Reichenbach Fall. **

**Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me. I just borrow him and John sometimes. Because Feels.**

* * *

Sherlock frowned down at the grubby piece of paper.

A small feminine cough sounded to his left. Sherlock's hand shot out blindly, shoving some bills into the filthy outstretched hand.

His voice broke through the sound of her retreat.

"I assume you are quite certain of the veracity of your information. I also assume you are aware that your rather lucrative position will terminate, should your observation skills ever prove lacking."

The shuffling steps paused.

Sherlock flicked a look at her. Steely and cold. The younger girl trembled slightly.

He shot her a smile that didn't effect the iciness of his gaze.

"No need to worry, Emily. I am well aware how useful you have been. I merely wanted to ensure your continued... attention to detail. You may go. I will be in touch."

The girl tightened her grip on her worn jacket and scampered quickly away. Sherlock watched her retreating form disappear into the low hanging fog.

It had been five months since Sherlock had last been to London. He returned three times previous.

The itinerary for these carefully planned appearances was always the same. Report to Mycroft for a debriefing. Arrange appropriate prisoner transportation, should any be required.

Coffee with Molly. In the morgue of course. She provided him with information on Lestrade and his current cases. She told him about shopping trips and tea with Mrs. Hudson.

She did not speak about John. Sherlock didn't ask.

The last thing Sherlock wanted was a verbal portrait of John painted by Molly. Her behavior spoke volumes about John, without needing to hear her reedy voice breaking sympathetically.

He just wanted the raw data.

It was in the pursuit of said data that he engaged Emily.

Homeless network proving itself once again.

The first time Sherlock came back she caught his attention. He carefully observed her for three days. Learning her habits. Deciding.

_Small. Clever eyes and hands. A pick pocket. Unremarkable looks. Mousey hair. Clear eyes and skin, good teeth, no visible marks or bruising. No drugs_.

He watched her read her intended victims.

She stole a watch from a city boy with scars on his knuckles. _Violent tendencies_. But she passed by a newly widowed father with grass stains on his trousers._ Owns a landscaping company._

She talked fifty quid "for a bus ride home" out of an older woman wearing too much lipstick. _Cheating on her husband_. But she returned an expensive pair of sunglasses to a woman in a bright scarf with a blister on her thumb._ Glass blower. Going blind._

The girl would do.

She eyed him dubiously when he introduced himself and offered her the position. She asked how he intended to use the information he wanted her to get. He offered her more money. She didn't blink.

She was perfect.

"Do you have a moment in your life to which you would like return? However impossible that may be?"

She twitched and looked away. "Yes"

"You are a very clever girl. I doubt I need to elaborate."

Each time he returned to London, he contacted her upon his arrival. She would spend the next few days gathering the information he wanted. She was his last stop before darting away, back to the continent, back to the hunt.

The information he requested from her answered four questions:

_How is he taking his coffee?_

_What is he wearing?_

_Flavor of jam eaten?_

_Most recent film viewed?_

...

The first time Sherlock stood in the rain and read the crumpled slip of paper.

Black, by the gallon.

Charcoal grey jumper, black trousers.

No Jam. Butter and Treacle.

Die Hard.

_Depression, self medicating with sugar and caffeine. Angry. Fantasies of revenge._

_Expected._

Sherlock's stomach clenched.

_Fine. All Fine. Natural_.

...

The second time Sherlock huddled on a stone bench while snow settled on his shoulders.

Black. In a coffee shop with sister.

Dark Green jumper. Tan trousers

Lemon-Mint marmalade. Homemade by housekeeper.

The Bridges of Toko-Ri

_Regaining normalcy. Nostalgia. Coping. Allowing people to tend to him._

The rolling in his stomach settled into a heavy, pressing weight.

_Good. John is getting better. Normal grief progression. Good._

...

The third time Sherlock struggled to breathe in the oppressive heat, sweat staining the paper in his hand.

At home. Black, two sugars.

Robe. Red. Fancy.

Strawberry

Star Trek: The Search For Spock

_Misses me. After two years, still misses me._

The guilt clawed at his insides.

...

and now five months later...

Sherlock peered down at the scribbles again.

Caramel macchiato. With the nervous brown-haired girl.

Bright blue collared shirt. Brown corduroy trousers

Sugar free, seedless, blackberry

Moulin Rouge

It was just so.. not John.

Coffee with Molly?_ Fine. Good_. But a caramel macchiato? For the military man who grimaced at the thought of anything polluting his coffee fix? Who hadn't willingly ever taken sugar in his coffee until his fit of- of-_ loneliness? Nostalgia?_ Who had choked down a sweetened mug to please Sherlock in Baskerville._ The deviation from his style of dress and earth-tone palate_. _Willful consumption of diet jam of all things?_! John had spent an hour once ranting about the dangers of synthetic sweeteners and free radicals and he'd take his jam as sugary as nature intended, thank you very much.

_And a musical? A musical?!_ Tiresome romantic drivel, banal, even for John. Not that John wasn't a romantic, but he tended more towards secretive late night period pieces. Atonement at 3am with the sound turned down. Pride and Prejudice upstairs when he thought Sherlock was having a nap.

_What is this? Think, think, why the sudden shift in behavior? What, precisely, would cause his John to-?_

Sherlock's face cleared. Obvious. _A girl_. At last. There had to be a girl, a girl John had a genuine interest in.

She was providing stimulus and stimulus causes change.

Just as war has changed John.

And as John had changed.. everything.

_Of course. It all made sense._

Sherlock sighed as he felt the burdensome feelings melt out of him.

Leaving him blissfully empty. Numb.

_A girl has become part of the equation_. _A girl John likes. A girl who will make John happy again. A girl who is changing John._

Sherlock grinned, his empty icy grin.

He wouldn't need to worry about his John any more.

Soon his John would no longer exist.

Soon there would only be Her John. And Her John would be an entirely new creature. A creature Sherlock didn't know. A creature whose thoughts and actions and impulses would not come to Sherlock as easily a breathing.

Finally John had found a girl.

Finally John would forget about Sherlock.

Finally Sherlock would not have to endure so many disgusting, distracting, tiresome feelings.

He could just feel nothing.

Nothing. Not ever again.

Finally

Sherlock clung tightly to the precious numbness.

If he could feel anything, it would be relief.

_Finally_


End file.
